


Bruises

by ClutchHedonist



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Jarrich, M/M, Silicon Valley Gift Exchange, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 05:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13024251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClutchHedonist/pseuds/ClutchHedonist
Summary: Richard is- there are people who don’t look like what they are. Don’t look like what they can do. Jared has learned to watch, to crouch down into himself and catch sight of them before they can find him.





	Bruises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [curlyricho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curlyricho/gifts).



> Happy Holidays to curlyricho.tumblr.com!!

Jared fumbles for the counter of the sink behind his back, stumbles against it to hold his weight and winces at the spark of soreness in his battered fingers as Richard surges forward. Richard’s hands are fisted in his fleece vest, knuckles white, a force of nature that sweeps Jared up in a greedy, vicious gale. The way he forces his mouth against his makes their teeth click together. Jared shudders at the sensation, at the feel of Richard’s lips, at the  _ concept  _ of it.

 

And then, all at once, Richard is pulling back, all wide eyes and twitching mouth. Jared has to force his eyes open, has to drag the breath down into his lungs, and finds his lips still slightly parted when he finally manages to focus on him.

 

“R-Richard?” He pants.

 

“Sorry. Sorry. Fuck, I-” Richard’s fingers twitch towards him, and then he shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, “Shit, shit. Sorry.” He stammers again. Then, as if jerked away by a taut kite string, he’s out the bathroom door. 

 

Jared stares.

 

***

 

Jared leaves the car running the entire time he’s waiting outside La Marenita. His bruised knuckles are still throbbing atop the wheel. Goodness knows what Melcher looks like - he’d barely been able to see when they pulled him off of him, heart pounding in his ears and still roaring, “No! No!”. And now - now Richard is inside with the serpent himself, with  _ Gavin Belson,  _ and all he’ll let Jared do is wait in the car. Jared swallows, checks his phone for what must be the fifth time in as many minutes. 

 

Then, there he is. The yellowish lights outside the restaurant color the already-purpled bruising around his eye even starker, almost black. Jared presses his lips together and lets out a tight breath through his nose. His fingers tighten around the wheel, and in some distant place he wonders if any of them are broken. 

 

“Did he threaten you?” He bursts out when Richard is halfway into the passenger seat, “I’ll go in there. I’ll find him. I’ll make him think twice.”

 

“No.” Richard is wearing that tight little smirk that  _ unseams  _ Jared, “I told him I wasn’t selling.” He tells him as he leans back in the seat. Then, a gust of breath leaves him all at once, and he pushes both hands back through his hair, “...I told him I wasn’t selling.”

 

“Of course.” Jared nods as he pulls out of the parking lot, “You- this-” He pauses, bites his lip. Being unprepared to expound on Pied Piper’s virtues at length is an unfamiliar feeling, “You- ...you’re-” 

 

He chances a glimpse over at the passenger seat. Richard is already crumpled against the window, eyelids drooping. Jared’s lips press into a thin smile, brows knitting. There’s a steady sourness somewhere in the depth of his stomach, a nauseating tide that ebbs and flows as he watches Richard’s features loosen into sleep. 

 

Richard is- there are people who don’t look like what they are. Don’t look like what they can do. Jared has learned to watch, to crouch down into himself and catch sight of them before they can find him. But Richard- Richard is a thousand-fold example, and here he is. He’d thought, champagne bottle in hand, peering nervously into the window of the incubator, that it was only the brilliance of him that was hiding behind the stooped shoulders and restless lips. But the rest of it - stupid, stupid Donald - the lean, reckless hunger, he- Jared reminds himself to focus on the road, to feel the wheel beneath his fingers, hear the soft, electric whirr of the engine and stay where he is.  _ Oh Richard, oh Richard, o death.  _

 

***

 

It had taken him six hours on his hands and knees with baking soda and vinegar to resurrect the grout between the tiles of the bathroom floor on the first Saturday he’d lived in the incubator. The idea of not paying rent while technically residing within the house (or house-adjacent spaces) had left him feeling too uncomfortably indebted to keep himself from cleaning. Still, there are always imperfections left in the bathroom - the rust around the shower drain, the film that seems somehow ingrained into the glass of the tired mirror - that he’s never been entirely able to banish. 

 

The sink counter wobbles as Jared leans in to wash the long-browned blood from his knuckles. He’s fairly certain that Melcher’s nose had only been bloodied, that nothing has been left broken. Well, his ring finger, maybe. So, nothing to worry about. He’ll splint it with a tongue depressor for a few days, he always has some squirreled away in the first aid kit.

 

The rush of water reveals blotches of purple and maroon across the back of his knuckles, and Jared can’t keep himself from a small, private smile. It’s- he’s never been proud of a bruise before, even on the rare occasions that he’d been on the winning side of a scuffle. But these, he- not even the memory of one of Melcher’s coworkers gawking at him, sputtering  _ crazy bastard!,  _ can dampen the small blossom of warmth in his belly when he looks over his hands.

 

There’s still a hint of a smile on his lips when he begins to wrap his - oh dear, yes, that’s definitely broken, trying to straighten it out - index finger. He breathes through his nose as he forces it flat, mutters a soft  _ gosh dangit  _ with brows furrowing. The sound of the door sweeping open nearly makes him drop the tape.

 

“J-just a moment, I-I’m-” He starts, then pauses as Richard freezes in the doorway, “Oh...Richard. Do you- is there anything you need?”

 

“Geeze, dude, your hands-”

 

“Oh, they’re fine.” Jared assures him quickly, “Nothing a little ice won’t patch right up. I should still be able to type.”

 

“No, it’s- well, I mean, it’s good that you- but dude. You- you really-” He mimics a small, jerky punching motion.

 

Jared blushes, “Well, I- he  _ attacked  _ you, I couldn’t-”

 

“No no, I appreciate it. I, uh-” Richard sniffs a small laughs, pointing to his bruised eye, “Not sure I was winning that one.”

 

Jared offers a small smile, “Well… you brought backup.” He notes.

 

The corner of Richard’s mouth twitches, “I- you-" Then, softer, “Thanks, man. For...for everything.”

 

Jared feels the breath catch in his chest. He looks back to his bandaging as heat rises in his cheeks, “Of course.” He breathes after a moment.

 

Richard is watching him. He always knows when Richard is watching him, knows the familiar sensation of something in his stomach jerking taut beneath his gaze. His fingers are useless with the medical tape, overlong and graceless.  _ Oh, Donald, no, not tonight. Not after everything. _

 

He can’t keep his eyes from flicking up once more, can’t hold back the soft, curious exhalation, “...Richard?”

 

And then there he is, taking hold of him,  _ kissing  _ him, and the first aid supplies are clattering to the tile as Jared seizes up against him, electric for the moment their mouths are joined.

 

His lips are still warm after Richard is gone.


End file.
